Descent
by Wofl
Summary: Something is different about Sam and by the time Dean notices, it may be too late. Part one of my Sampire verse. Wincest. Mature. Angst.


  
"Sammy, something happened back there, didn't it?"

"mmh?"

"Back there with Gordon, when you were kidnapped."

Dean swallows and wills his voice not to shake. He doesn't want to believe it, but the feral look that has risen up into his brother's eyes, the slow, lazy smile. God, Sam has him cornered in a grungy stall in a truck stop bathroom.

"I guess I didn't notice," Sam drawls, lips curling into something a bit more sinister and shit. He'll be damned if he can't see teeth.

Vampire teeth.

_Fuck._

"Sam, becoming a vampire is something you don't exactly _not notice."_

Dean is so screwed. So utterly and completely and totally screwed. And all he can do is be sarcastic. _Great._

But then Sam is leaning over and Dean can feel his brother's tongue on his neck and he knows what comes next, knows it and he should be kicking and yelling and cutting Sam's head off with a machete.

Yeah right.

That's the problem. Sam is his brother, and somewhere, things have gone terribly wrong, and Dean simply doesn't know what to do. Fuck.

--

"Relax, Dean," Sam says, relishing the way his brother trembles beneath him. He's bigger than Dean, stronger, now. And he could easily overpower his brother, but why bother? Why use force when Dean submits to him so willingly?

He doesn't want to kill his brother. He wants to set him free, the way he's been set free. God, the guilt, the anguish, all the terrible burdens of conscience have been lifted from his mind and he feels so much lighter now.

But more importantly, he's thirsty. Maddeningly so.

Dean's breath is hot in Sam's ear; the quick, shallow puffs a clear indicator of Dean's discomfort, his nervousness. _Good_. Sam smiles against Dean's throat, tasting the skin there and finds it irresistible.

He can't wait any longer.

"Sam." There are hands on his chest, suddenly, as Dean struggles to push him back, away. "Sam, stop."

Sam lifts his head, eyes catching Dean's and holding them in an unwavering stare, relishing the confusion and fear pooling in a flash of bright green that is his brother's eyes. He remembers, though it is swiftly fading from his mind, that sort of fear, the worry that mortals clung to. He wants to release his brother from that. More importantly, he wants to taste Dean.

"Make me," he hisses, and presses back against the older man.

Dean hits the wall, hard, breath wheezing from his throat, eyes bulging in that surprised sort of way that tells Sam that Dean wasn't fully expecting it.

What, had he actually expected Sam to stop?

The thought brings a chuckle to his lips, low and soft and Dean's sucks in a breath. "Sammy," he tries again.

But Sam has already made up his mind, will not let himself be deterred. Dean can't kill him, not without a trip to the impala, and Sam certainly isn't letting him get that far. This is the only thing left for them, Sam can see it, he just wishes his brother would too. Then he would surrender to the inevitable instead of struggling like he is now, squirming beneath Sam's heavy weight and brute strength - formidable before, when he was a mortal, bordering on obscene, now that supernatural abilities run through his veins, sending aid to his muscles.

And that's not even touching upon whatever mental hang-ups Dean would have concerning having to kill a creature that was also his brother. (And there are more than a few, Sam knows it just as well as Dean.)

Dean doesn't stand a chance. And, with delight, Sam can see by his brother's expression that he's starting to realize that too.

Dean wrestles a hand free, raising a trembling fist to strike Sam, but the younger catches the limb before it can do anything. He grips Dean's wrist with steely, inhuman fingers, and presses it up against the wall over Dean's head. "Shhh," he soothes, leaning back in to taste the pale skin of Dean's neck again. His teeth, so sharp, now, so _thirsty_ toy with Dean's earlobe, tugging on the soft skin gently. "It'll all be over in a minute, it's okay, let me do this, Dean. Please?"

The truth is, he still wants his brother, doesn't _need_ him anymore, not really. But that doesn't stop him from _wanting_ him. Eternity - because that's what he has now - seems fairly lonely without the prospect of Dean at his side to keep him company. He wants his brother to be able to share this with him. And Sam has decided that he's going to get exactly what he wants from now on.

Vampires mate for life.

Somehow, a thought that had always seemed so sick in Sam's head, a subject he's never dared to breech with Dean, something he's never been willing to confess, now, it just seems practical.

Desire has no care for blood or relations. Lust is a insatiable creature, with an eye only for beauty and raw, carnal energy. Sam wants Dean. It's as simple as that. Hang the social scrutiny. Sam's sure they don't approve of vampires either. He's not going to let it stop him any more.

And something about Dean sends a flush of arousal through Sam's body, even now. The thought that he could have Dean for the rest of forever…_God_. It's hard to concentrate. But he forces those thoughts down, squishes them into something resembling incentive and puts on his working cap.

Plans call for action.

Sam keeps on hand firm on Dean's wrist, pinning him with sheer body mass, and brings his other hand to his mouth. He doesn't bother with knives, there's no time for such frivolities, just sets tooth to skin and presses hard until he tastes the bloods as it seeps across his tongue.

When enough of it has gathered in his mouth, he leans forward, pressing his lips forcefully. For a moment, Dean resists valiantly, quick utterances of "no, don't," and "please, Sammy," making the surrender so much sweeter. Because once Dean finds he can't escape it, he gives in, melts into Sam's kiss and even kisses back, tongue lapping the blood from the inside of Sam's mouth.

Red liquid dribbles down both their chins, and Dean whimpers when Sam breaks away, panting for breath he doesn't need. "Almost done." He says, and finally releases Dean's wrist, pulling it down and towards his mouth. Dean's eyes go wide, and he tugs on the aforementioned limb, but it's half-hearted. Sam smiles.

Dean is already turning. The desire to resist fading as quickly as his brother's humanity.

He tears through Dean's flesh ruthlessly - so thirsty, oh god - and it tastes even more incredible than he could have imagined. He laps at the blood, greedily, tilting his head back, letting the copper-bitter liquid slide down his throat. But only a little bit, only for a few minutes. He has to be careful, after all.

It will still be a few days yet before Dean has turned completely. Until then, he is still a liability. He can still die from blood loss and he can still potentially gather the willpower to behead Sam.

That wouldn't be too fun, Sam thinks.

When he's consumed his fill - as much as he dares, at least - he tears off a piece of his shirt and ties it firmly around the wound, to stunt the bleeding.

Dean is panting beneath him, mouth open, edges tinted red, and slowly, he brings his gaze up to meet Sam's.

"Fuck," he utters, tongue darting out to slick over his lips tantalizingly, wiping away the last traces of blood. "Sam..."

And that's all he can manage before Dean is wrenching his wrist from Sam's grip, and suddenly, Dean is kissing him again, mouth hungry for what he'd only been offered a taste of.

_That's it_, Sam thinks, letting his brother ravage his mouth, pressing right back, kissing him just as hungrily. This is exactly what he wants. This is what he's wanted Dean to see the whole time. He only wants to make his brother feel good.

Sam's body is pressed tightly to Dean's for entirely different reasons now; less to restrain, now, and more to feel and appreciate the aesthetic pleasures of Dean's body. There's heat and friction and something Sam can't quite put his finger on, but when Dean wraps one arm around his neck and throws a leg up to curl around Sam's lower half, he can't really bring himself to care.

He just focuses on the warm heat of Dean's mouth and Dean's erection, which he can feel pressed against his hip as Dean grinds against him. He doesn't think his brother will be a problem anymore.

In fact, Sam believes he has Dean _exactly_ where he wants him. Sam smiles, cunning and triumphant, and kisses his brother again, his hand finding its way down Dean's boxers.

No, definitely not a problem anymore. 


End file.
